Paramnesia
by Imcannedfruit
Summary: Merriam-Webster's Medical Dictionary defines paramnesia as the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time; more commonly known as déjà vu.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

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They say dreams are the windows of the soul--take a peek and you can see the inner workings, the nuts and bolts.

Henry Bromel, _Northern Exposure, The Big Kiss, 1991_

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Light removed his shoes as he stepped over the threshold. He hummed as he put away his jacket. He looked up. And stopped.

_What the…?_ Headquarters was deserted. Not a solitary shoe or crust remained. All the computer terminals were off, the printers idle.

Light had gone downstairs to use the bathroom, and when he had returned everyone had left.

_Where _is _everyone? _He hadn't heard them leave. He peeked under the desk he and L shared during their confinement, perhaps hoping to find him huddled in the knee space, stuffing his face. Again. He shuddered.

Hmm… It was rather odd how L had let him go without the chain restraining him. He could have run if he had wanted to. How odd.

Light crossed the room to the sofa, peeking over it. Nope.

Now he was starting to get worried. What if Kira had somehow learned the taskforce's names and killed them all while he was gone? But why didn't he hear anything? And if that was the case, why was Light still alive?

The penny dropped. Light gasped. _I'm… Kira?! _No! He shook his head vigorously. L was getting to him. There was no way that he could even entertain the thought that he was Kira, even in his head. But there was no other explanation…

Light bolted, wanting to be as far from the "crime" scene as possible. In the hall, he paused, catching his breath. He peered in a mirror and noticed his pale face, distraught and dripping with sweat. His heart was hammering in his chest, struggling into his mouth, and his hands shook. He wiped his hands on his jeans and slid down the wall.

_Calm down,_ he ordered himself. _Nothing's happened. They're probably just hiding. Yeah. _But despite his own reassurances, he could not shake the fact that something horrible had happened. Something very, very horrible.

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A/N: Yay, my first serious fic! I'm very excited! This is just a prologue, don't worry, the next chapter is longer, I promise! - Please tell me what you think. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Me, own Death Note? Pfft. (That means I don't.)**

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Light composed himself and shakily stood up. He looked in the mirror again and screamed.

There were faces floating in the mirror. Bloody and disfigured. He recognized Aizawa, Mogi, Matsuda, and his own father. Behind the faces was his own, twisted into a cruel smirk, eyes deranged. Light screamed again and stared at his hands that were suddenly drenched in blood. The blood was red and rich and dripped off his hands. A strangled moan tore from his throat as more blood dripped from above.

Light gasped as he sat up in bed. The chain rattled in protest. Except there was no chain. He stared down in confusion at his wrist, shook it, but could no longer hear the phantom chain.

His heart was still beating from the aftermath of his dream. It had been so real. _Was it really a dream?_ It had felt as if he had been living in another time, had been living a different life.

Like sand, the details of his dream trickled away, and all that remained was a vague sense of anxiety, urgency. The need to move.

He sat up. His t-shirt was drenched in cold sweat. He peeled it off and sat up.

He glanced at the clock; it was only three in the morning, an ungodly hour. His legs itched for motion, and he put on a fresh white cotton shirt and jeans.

Light padded down the stairs and quietly let himself out.

The crisp night air made him feel much better. He looked up, but couldn't see the stars in the brightly-lit Tokyo metropolitan area.

The moon, however, was visible, a large white body in the sky that seemed to mock his despair.

Light set off down the street with no real purpose in mind, only the vague urge to move, move, move. He didn't know how long or far he had walked, and only stopped when he realized he had cut his foot. He looked down. He wasn't wearing shoes.

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Eleven hours later, Light was sitting in his usual seat by the window and was staring blearily out of it. The teacher droned on in English, but Light paid him no heed. He was called on and he stood up and said his bit in a complacent monotone. The teacher praised him; just the usual ass-kissing.

As the students whispered on about their insipid little lives, Light mulled over the mysterious dream he had had last night. He remembered a feeling of terror and despair, and blood. Lots of blood. But whose blood?

Just as he was contemplating the blood, the _horrible _blood, something caught his eye. Something was falling out of the sky. A notebook. He stared at the spot on the lawn where it had fallen. _What the hell?_ Strangely, the sight of the black notebook filled him with a feeling of dread. And peculiarly, a sense of familiarity and déjà vu.

When the bell rang, Light jumped and hurriedly collected his things, rushing out of the door before anyone else. Although he tried to avoid it, the notebook caught his eye and drew him forward like a bright light draws forward a moth. But Light had the feeling that the notebook was no bright light. Indeed, it was the opposite, a dark void that would suck him in and turn him inside out, obliterating him if he approached it. But that was ridiculous. It was just a notebook, right?

Nevertheless, he walked up to the notebook warily and picked it up slowly, as if it were a bomb and would explode. He cautiously brought it up to his face and read it. He laughed. _Death Note? _He read through the rules. _How to use . . . 40 seconds to after a human's name is written into this notebook, they will die. _He snapped it shut with a smirk._ What a joke. It _must _be a prank or something_ _But to go to such lengths. . . . _And even though he didn't want to, he tucked the notebook into his bag. _I must be going insane.

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_

Once at home, he removed his jacket and flopped onto his bed. _It has to be a joke. There's no way a notebook of death could exist._ Even as he thought this, the notebook was calling to him. He tried to resist it for as long as possible.

But even as he tried to resist, his legs swung over the bed and he stumbled over to the desk and pulled out the notebook. With his mechanical pencil poised over the page, he paused. _If this works, would this make me a . . . murderer? Pfft. Whatever. It won't work. _

All the same, he turned on his television. It was on the news channel. It always was. As he heard the crimes of a local criminal, a well of righteous fury boiled over inside him. _Trash like this deserves to die! _

As these horrible thoughts spilled into his mind, a moan arose from him. This wasn't right.

He tried to stop, but his hand had already finished its deadly dead. Dazed, he stared at the feverish scrawl that seemed to be written by a mad man. _That's probably not that far off, _he thought grimly.

He glanced at his clock and a dark chuckle escaped him. _38 . . . 39 . . . 40. _

Nothing had happened. _Hah, I knew it! _He felt torn between happiness and strangely enough, disillusioned.

The phony female reporter was back. Only this time, she looked frantic. "We've just received breaking news. . . . The hostages are coming out! The police have denied using force on the suspect, but witnesses say that he just suddenly collapsed. More on this story later."

Light gasped. His mind was reeling. _How . . . ? This . . . this is impossible. It must have been a fluke. There's no way. . . . _

He looked at the notebook and a wave of nausea overcame him. He rushed to the bathroom and vomited. He washed his face but avoided looking at the mirror, lest he see the floating faces once more.

He was shaking again.

His hands felt sticky. In fear, he looked up at the ceiling. It was dripping blood.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, clutching his head. His hair was matted with blood.

_No! _He reprimanded himself, and suddenly the shakiness and the blood disappeared.

_I did what I had to do. Yes, in this way I will clean the world of criminals. Only I can do it!_

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AN: Oh, my gosh, I'm awful! I told myself, and I told myself that I would update a week after I posted the prologue. How long has it been? Three weeks? I suck. Anyway, I hoped you liked this chapter, because I didn't. It felt kinda plastic, 'ya know? I tried to make it as long as I could. Sadly, it is not in my nature to write long narratives. Tell me what you thought!

PS. Happy Belated Valentine's Day! 3


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